


Deck Seven

by delicatelyglitterywriter



Series: Doctor Who Tweetalong Fics [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Post-Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatelyglitterywriter/pseuds/delicatelyglitterywriter
Summary: The Doctor goes and investigates the tank on Deck Seven
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/River Song
Series: Doctor Who Tweetalong Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004781
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Deck Seven

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for the doctor who lockdown tweetalong but it didn't get chosen :( am sad but am not about to withhold it from y'all. enjoy :D

_“You probably want to press that button.”_

_“Why? That evacuates the waste tank on deck seven!”_

_“Does it?”_

_“What is wrong with you?”_

_“Better avoid deck seven, then.”_

That had been the Doctor’s decision at the time of the conversation - to avoid deck seven. He didn’t want to accidentally fall into said waste tank or be yeeted out into space along with the rest of the waste. Yes, he may have been a Time Lord, but even his respiratory bypass wouldn’t give him much grace in the deep recesses of space. The thought gives him a strange sense of foreboding, but he shrugs it off. He’ll deal with that, whatever it is, when he comes to it.

For now, he meanders down, towards deck seven, out of sheer curiosity. Yes, he _knows_ he shouldn’t, and he _knows_ he said he wouldn’t, but he just has so many questions!

How large is the tank? What shape is it? Where are the entry and exit points? What kind of waste does it hold? General rubbish? Excrement? Other Bodily fluids? Mushed up alien bits from a combine harvester type thingy the TARDIS has that he doesn’t know about? Did the TARDIS always have this tank, or was it a new addition when she redecorated? Had it always been on deck seven, or did she like to move it around? How frequently was the waste disposed of? That brings him back around to his first question: how large is the tank?

It doesn’t take long to find deck seven - after all, it’s only seven levels down - and even less time to find the tank - it’s massive.

“Woah!” the Doctor exclaims, unable to keep his awe internalised. He runs up and down the length of the tank (it’s horizontally placed, not vertically placed), examining the tank. 

There’s nothing exceptional about the tank. It’s a muted orange colour, almost blending in with its surroundings. A person who wasn’t actively looking for it might miss it wandering past - which, in the Doctor’s less-than-humble opinion, is quite a feat, given how _large_ it is. The only thing stopping it from blending in completely are two words, written in big, black, bold letters across the side: WASTE TANK.

The Doctor suspects - no, the Doctor _knows_ \- it was put there for his benefit, to stop him from accidentally climbing inside to find out what it was; to curb his curiosity. However, today, even big, bold, black letters can’t stop the Doctor’s curiosity, and he uses some nearby railings (he can’t imagine _why_ there are railings here; it’s an enclosed space; what on _earth_ could the TARDIS want to put _railings_ here for?!) to climb up and clamber on top of the tank. He crawls across it, until he finds an emergency hatch.

“Bingo!” he says gleefully. If he had been a little more Brax-ish (why, oh _why_ , did his brother have to be the kind of person to become an adjective like this?), he probably would have rubbed his hands together. But, since he’s _not_ Brax-ish (thank Rassilon), he simply pulls out his sonic screwdriver, unlocks the hatch, and peeks inside, almost instantly recoiling when he smells it.

It’s not excrement (again, thank Rassilon - though why the Doctor should be thanking that prattling twat is a mystery, even to him), but it still smells foul. He supposes a giant composting heap of food scraps in an enclosed and rather warm space _will_ do that. Now knowing what to expect, he sticks his head back in, to see what he can see. 

There’s nothing extraordinary or exciting, though he does recognise the banana peel from Tuesday, the rotten raspberries from Wednesday, the twelve apple cores from Sunday, the peas that Nardole had refused to eat during Monday night’s dinner, and...wait, what _is_ that?

The Doctor squints and leans in closer, trying to get a better look at whatever it is. He leans in closer...closer...closer…

The Doctor falls, with a yelp, headfirst into the compost heap. By the time he manages to put himself right way up and find his sonic, it’s too late. He’s covered head to toe in leftover food bits.

“Eyuck!”

Close to forty minutes later, the Doctor trudges into the room where he and River are staying, intending to get changed. River, still in bed and writing in her diary, looks up as he enters, takes one look at him and smirks knowingly.

“Let me guess: deck seven.”


End file.
